The Sweetest Hallelujah
by thisislandgirl
Summary: It started with anger and hatred and pain, but it ends with love. Post-apocalypse, wincest, possible spoilers for all of season 5


The Sweetest Hallelujah

Pairing: Sam/Dean

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 2800+ words

Warning: wincest, post-apocalypse, m/m sex, character death, possible spoilers through aired season 5

Disclaimer: Its Kripke's sandbox, I just like to play with the toys now and then.

Summary: _"Even though it all went wrong, I'll stand right here for the Lord of Song with nothing on my lips but Hallelujah"_ It started with anger and hatred and pain, but it ends with love.

It ends differently than it began.

It started with blood and pain and anger and hatred. They were just two brothers torn apart by events completely out of their control. Every being on earth, supernatural or otherwise, was on the hunt for them. They had no other choice but to end it. Not an ounce of trust or faith left between them. Dean walked out without a glance back and two days later Sam said yes. Dean followed mere hours later.

Yet here he is, standing outside a nondescript hotel room, heart pounding in his chest. He'd never expected to survive when he'd acquiesced. Never gave it a thought as to what would happen to him whether the angels or the demons should win. Only had the hope that salvation was waiting for him at the end of everything.

And now it was all over. Battle fought and won by Heaven's host. And somehow, when Lucifer had been ripped from his body, Sam found himself well and whole and still breathing. He didn't understand it, couldn't quite comprehend what had happened except the angels wanted him alive for the time being.

He remembers waking in a field on the outskirts of what used to be Pittsburgh, eyes looking to a smoke filled sky with nothing but resignation. He saw the destruction around him, the ruins of what used to be a city smoldering in the distance, the ground beneath him charred and dry. A faint breeze blew across his skin and he looked up to see Castiel standing before him.

"Dean is waiting for you," he murmured before reaching his hand out toward Sam.

_Dean?_ The thought had barely crossed his mind before he found himself standing in front of a motel room door with green chipped paint and a crooked brass number. One like the thousands they'd seen before.

He could feel his heard pounding in his chest, his hands trembling as he reached for the knob. It twisted easily in his palm and swung open with barely a nudge. And there was Dean on the other side.

Sam didn't even know he was moving until he was pressed against Dean, arms wrapping around his shoulders, his head resting against Dean's neck.

"Dean," it was a plea and a praise all rolled into one desperate sob. He could feel tears wetting his cheeks, Dean's shirt, but he was helpless to stop them. It was all too much, every emotion possible crashing into him at once, joy, fear, sadness, disbelief.

He could feel Dean's warm body against his, feel the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, but it just wasn't enough. Sam slipped his hands under the layers of Dean's shirts until he found skin. Warm skin thrumming with life. He slid them over the flat planes of Dean's belly, up his chest and across his back before they found their way back to Dean's chest. One hand resting over Dean's heart, Sam let out another sob.

"You're okay?" Sam couldn't pull himself away from any point of contact with Dean to meet his eyes. It didn't feel real; he was afraid Dean would slip away if he pulled back even a fraction.

"Yeah, Sammy. I'm good," Dean whispered against Sam's temple. Sam could feel Dean's hands run soothing up and down his back, one hand slipping up into Sam's hair to cradle his head. "What about you, Sammy," Dean's lips laid a butterfly kiss on his head between whispers. "Are you okay?"

Sam barely managed a nod, not trusting his voice just yet. Only a day, even a few hours ago, everything had seemed so grim and hopeless. Sam was a prisoner in his own body, strapped to a comet blazing around the world, forced to watch the destruction caused by his own hands. And then it had ended bloody between Sam and Dean, Lucifer and Michael. The details are just a blur in his mind, but he remembers bits and pieces of the fight. The next thing Sam's aware of is the field outside Pittsburgh. And now he's here with Dean, alive and whole and fine for the first time in years. The transition is dizzying, swinging from hopeless to hopeful, despair to happiness, broken and trapped to free. And from appearances, Dean is the same.

"Sammy," Dean's quiet voice brings him out of his thoughts to find that Dean's gently trying to extract himself from Sam's crushing embrace. "Let me take a look at you."

Dean takes a step back and holds him at arms length, eyes sweeping over every inch of him. Sam's not sure what he looks like; Lucifer hadn't exactly been keen on keeping up appearances. He glances down and sees nothing but his clothes. No blood or organs spilling out of his body, no jagged bones jutting through the skin like he thought there would be. Everything is in its proper place.

Sam glances back up and sees a look in Dean's eyes, a look like he can't quite believe what he's seeing. He shows no other outward signs of his disbelief though. In fact, Dean's been way too calm with all of this and for one painful moment Sam fears that this is just another one of Lucifer's tricks. But then Dean meets his eyes and smiles _that_ smile, a small quirk of lips that crinkles up his eyes just so. It's the smile he reserves solely for Sam, one he hasn't seen on his face in ages. He knows then that this, as impossible as it may seem, is real.

"Sit down before you fall down, Sam," Dean quips, eyes still dancing with the light from his smile. He gently closes the door behind Sam then guides him to sit on the edge of the large bed. Once Dean is settle next to Sam, pressed together from shoulder to elbow, hip to knee, Sam drums up the courage to give his brother a once over.

To his eyes, Dean looks the same as he did the last time Sam saw him. How long ago it was, Sam isn't sure; it's hard to keep track of time with an angel riding your bones. But Dean looks the same, he looks … good. His eyes trained on Sam are crisp and clear, not dulled with pain or alcohol or anger like the last time Sam had seen them. His eyes still crinkle at the corners, as does his mouth when he smiles. No new scars, same old freckles. Every move he makes is purely Dean, a welcome relief after seeing the way Michael had moved Dean's body.

It's Dean. It's really _his_ Dean.

Sam feels a breath rush out of him that he hadn't been aware he was holding. "I just-" he stops not sure how to proceed. "How are we still alive, Dean? How am _I_ still alive?" His voice comes out sounding higher, a bit panicky, but he can't help it. He just doesn't understand. "How did we get here?"

Dean smiles that quiet smile and takes a hold of one of Sam's hands between his own. He's holding Sam's gaze when he answers. "I don't know, Sammy. I don't know how we survived." He sighs quietly, gaze flicking away from Sam for a moment before settling on him once again. "Michael brought me here after …" Dean clears his throat awkwardly before forging on. "He told me to wait here then just … jumped out I guess. One minute we're, he's, in the middle of battle and the next I'm here sitting on the bed waiting. I don't know, Sam."

Sam nods, fingers tightening his hold on Dean. He doesn't understand it either and while he knows that should make him nervous, not knowing what the angels are up to, he just can't find it in himself to care. He's here with Dean, something he thought he'd never get to experience again, and that's all that matters for now.

"What do you remember, Sammy?" Dean's voice is whisper soft as he speaks, like he's not sure he really wants to know the answer. But when Sam meets his eyes, Dean's gaze is steady and firm.

"I don't know, it's all kind of fuzzy," Sam sighs. He's not sure if he even wants to remember. "They were fighting, Michael and Lucifer. I remember Lucifer wanted me to watch, said he wanted me to see you die by my hand."

Images flash in Sam's mind of swords thrusting, parrying, blocking. Fists and feet flying furiously towards their intended targets. He remembers his own hand thrusting a sword through Dean's shoulder and the way Lucifer roared with laughter. He remembers the way Dean's head had snapped back when he landed a forceful punch, the way it knocked him to the ground. Lucifer had kicked him hard and gloated. '_Get up and fight me, brother'_ his voice but Lucifer's words. _'Fight me! Or are you too weak?! Fight me!!'_ And then Michael had. He brought his sword up and thrust it hard, straight through Sam's abdomen, right below his ribcage, and out his back. He stood up, blood gushing down his chest from the wound, but he pulled his sword out of Sam's body and laid his hand upon Sam's head. '_Be gone brother'_ Michael had whispered and Sam felt the last of Lucifer's presence flicker out. He remembered laying there on the field bleeding out, staring up Dean's mortally wounded body still being held together the angel. He remembered the way Michael had cocked Dean's head, a look of remorse on his face as he looked down upon the fallen Winchester. Then he was just gone.

Sam felt his breath hitch in his throat. Dean had been wounded. Badly. Instinctively he reached for Dean's shirt, yanking it up. There were no marks on Dean's skin, no blood. His eyes had to be deceiving him; he'd seen the blade slice through Dean's flesh. He ran his fingers over where the wound should be but was startled to find it smooth.

He didn't even realize there were tears on his cheeks until Dean's hands came up and cupped his face. Dean's thumbs gently swiped them away, a look of sorrow in his eyes. "I'm okay, Sammy. I'm okay."

He knows Dean's okay, sees that Dean is fine, but still that fear has his heart pounding, had him feeling sick. He can't stop the tears. Sam drags his eyes up from Dean's chest and stares into his brother's eyes. They haven't been this close in years, physically or emotionally. Dean's hands cradling his cheeks, their faces mere inches apart. It would be so easy, so easy to lean in and reclaim those lost years between them, to press his lips to Dean's, to feel their bodies moving as one.

Dean wants it too, Sam can see it in the way his eyes widen the tiniest bit, the way his lips part in anticipation. He can feel it in the way Dean's hands shift from offering comfort to something more intimate. Dean's shoulders relax and his head tilts to the side before he slants their lips together.

It's so gentle and peaceful in a way they never were. It was always lust-drunk love and angry passion. It was never hurtful, but they were never gentle, never slow. But this was, a slow slide of their lips, gently moving against the other. Sam anchors his hands in the front of Dean's shirt as he whispers out a moan against Dean's mouth. It's desire and passion and love and a whole heap of other emotions he can't even name. It's the dark, cold, deep pit inside of him closing up, being filled with Dean's warmth and light and good.

When Dean's tongue slides in against his own, asking permission in a way it never had, Sam completely loses himself in the feeling. Dean's hands skim over his jaw, tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

Then Dean is pushing Sam back on the bed stripping off their shirts as they go. The first touch of skin against skin is electric, a fire igniting inside of Sam, raging through his body. With Dean's body aligned with his, he can feel Dean's desire pressing against his own and can't hold back another moan. He arches up against Dean, feeling Dean's lips traveling down his neck, worshiping him.

"Dean," he manages to gasp out. He cups Dean's cheek and pulls him up again to press their mouths together. Fingers intertwined, bodies aligned, tongues dancing around one another, Sam feeling like he could explode from all the sensations. But Dean won't let him go, not just yet. He takes his time.

His lips travel down Sam's body one butterfly kiss at a time; across his shoulders and down his arms, over the expanse of his chest and stomach. Sam's hands travel a similar path, sliding over every inch of Dean's skin, memorizing the dips and planes, feeling the way the muscles move beneath it. When the jeans come off, Dean's lips and fingers are there, laving every inch of skin as it's exposed.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," Sam chants, needing more but loath to have Dean pull away even for a moment. "Please."

Dean wouldn't deny him, never really could. He slides back up the length of Sam's body, skin gliding against skin until they're pressed together, not even a breath of air between them. They move together, bodies finding an easy rhythm. It's hands caressing and lips worshiping with kisses, and panted out breathy praises.

When Dean slides inside Sam for the first time in years, it's like coming home. Sam arches up off the bed, a tear sliding down his cheek as he gasps out Dean's name. Dean takes him time with Sam. Languid thrusts, pressure in just the right spots, and they are coming undone, perfectly in sync.

Dean pulls Sam into his lap, rolling their hips together. Face to face, chest to chest. Sam stares into Dean's eyes as he moves his body, eager to reciprocate the worship that was given to him. He kisses every inch of Dean he can reach, hands tangling in Dean's hair as he pushes them both closer to the edge.

When he comes, Sam buries his face against Dean's neck, gasping out his name. Hearing his name on Sam's lips was the sweetest hallelujah Dean had ever heard and followed Sam only a few paces behind. It's Sam's name he murmurs like a prayer, over and over as ecstasy crashes through him. It's spine tingling, toe curling bliss. The best of his life.

When Sam opens his eyes, they're laying down again, his head pillowed on Dean's chest. He leans up and presses a kiss to Dean's chest, right over his heart. Dean's eyes are closed but Sam knows he's awake just like he knows they're both forgiven. No words needed. He nestles back down against Dean and feels the faint thudding of Dean's heart against his cheek.

Sam feels his eyes slipping closed as their hearts fall into rhythm, beating as one.

He glides his fingers through the cooling sweat on Dean's chest, drawing lazy circles as his body comes down from the high. There's more sweat than Sam thought there would be running across Dean's chest, but he pays it no mind. It isn't until the tang of iron hits his nostrils that he opens his eyes.

Blood. There's blood on his fingers. Blood that came from Dean's chest. Sam bolts upright with a cry of terror, gazing down at the stab wound in Dean's chest. The wound that he, that Lucifer, had created.

"Dean!" he whimpers. His hands are trembling too badly but he reaches up to feel for a pulse as Dean's eyes slide open.

"Shhh, Sammy. You're okay." Dean whispers, a calm look on his face as he takes Sam's hands in his own. "You're okay."

Sam's confused by Dean's words until his brother's eyes slide down to Sam's stomach. Sam looks down as well and gapes at the blood covering him as well. Blood that is pouring from the stab wound Michael had inflicted. He's horrified by what he sees, but there's no pain. There's no trace of pain on Dean's face either. _'What did you do Dean?! What deal have you made?!'_ his mind screams, but the words never make it to his lips.

"Its okay, Sammy. Come lay back down." Dean gives Sam's hands a gentle tug and Sam's body follows. He lays his head on Dean's shoulder, feels a kiss pressed to the top of his head as his eyes lips droop. "Go to sleep, Sammy. I've got you."

And Sam does. He slides effortlessly into sleep while Dean holds him and two heart beats become one.

And one becomes none.

~end~

A/N: So this came about while I was listening "Hallelujah" (the Jason Manns version of course!) and all of a sudden the lyrics just fit together and drew me a picture. Coincidentally it was a wincesty picture but I went with it. I've never ventured into wincest but there's a first time for everything, right? The lyrics below are the ones that inspired it.

_Love is not a victory march // It's a cold and broken hallelujah_

_Remember when I moved in you and the holy dove was moving too // And every breath we drew was hallelujah_

_If you're someone who has seen the light // It's a holy and an unbroken hallelujah_

_Did my best but it wasn't much // Couldn't feel so I learned to touch // Didn't come all this way to fool ya // Even though it all went wrong // I'll stand here for the Lord of Song // With nothing on my lips but hallelujah_


End file.
